


Fang and Claw

by orphan_account



Series: The Foul-Mouthed Adventures of Ghost [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Other, RHOSTON LIVES, The Broship we all need, The SC3TP that was promised
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-28
Updated: 2018-09-28
Packaged: 2019-07-18 17:24:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16123253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: In which Ghost learns that pack comes in all shapes and sizes.(Rating bumped up because language and general fuckery or allusions to fuckery)





	Fang and Claw

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SeasquidSnark](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeasquidSnark/gifts).



> Written for the lovely and charitable SeasquidSnark AKA aweseeds. I am, now and always, your word whore for charity. Hope you like it!
> 
> Moodboard by my own personal spirit animal NoOrdinaryLines, as always!

* * *

 

Ghost padded on silent paws through the main gates, red eyes darting left and right in the dying sunlight.  He paused, sniffed into the icy wind, waiting to catch the scent of his quarry.  There it was, yes, fire and scales and magic.

Fucking dragons.

He sighed, sneezing rapidly to get the heated scent out of his nostrils, the smell alone seeming to singe at his muzzle, as he made his way across the icy meadow and up the hillside, stopping for a moment as he caught sight of them.

They weren’t *so* big, he scoffed to himself, watching as the green and black creatures lay crunching and gnawing on their meals, deer by the smell, scorched with their hot breath unless he was mistaken.

He rarely was, of course.

His nose could detect many things.

Ghost allowed himself a chuckle as he made slow progress to where the creatures reclined, his nose making no mistake of the fact that Jon, *his* Jon, was currently putting it on the silver-haired mate he’d brought back home with him, the air thick with the smells and sounds of fucking when he’d made a circuit past Jon’s chambers.

‘Bout fucking time, if you asked him, though people general didn’t.  Jon was the only one who could really communicate with him, and that was hazy at the best of times, but Ghost hadn’t needed any hinting from Jon to leave the noisy pair to it.

He had other things to tend to, anyway, namely what in the fucking hells these overgrown fire lizards thought they were doing feeding off stags without his permission.

This was the North, and it belonged to wolves, not dragons.

As he approached the pair looked up, their jaws working away at meat and bones, smoking flesh and charred bone strewn between them as they ate, and the fiery sunset glanced off sharply curved fangs that suggested he’d be safest to try his hand at a bit of diplomacy.

“Pardon me, lads.”  Golden eyes stared down at him, waiting.  “First off, welcome, of course.”  Powerful jaws crunched, and Ghost swallowed hard, unwilling to be cowed by the overgrown interlopers, carefully watching for any sign of aggression.  “Glad to see you’ve found a meal, but next time best check with me first.”

The black dragon, the larger of the two, made a low rumbling sound like heavy thunder, and for a moment he thought he was about to get a blast of fire to the face.  He was relieved when he realized the dragon was laughing.

It was followed quickly by anger when he realized that the dragon was laughing at *him*, a menacing voice calling out to the green beside him, “Brother, is that fluffy little pony talking to us?”

“I’m not a fucking pony, you dumb shit.”  Caution left him, replaced by his own menacing growl.  “I’m a direwolf.”

“Ahhhhhhh.”  Ghost didn’t care for the amusement that rang through the dragon’s tone.  “So, a dog the size of a pony, then.” 

He felt a snarl building, though he knew it was unwise.  “Not a fucking dog either, lizard.”  His words came out rough and low, and the part of him that was always spoiling for a scrap welcomed the fire in the beast’s eyes as he rose slowly, advancing on the white wolf.

“Stop it, brother.”  The green beast had risen as well, silent throughout the exchange but heading off his brother now, his slightly smaller, scaly body inserting itself between the two.  “He’s the King’s.”  His great head swung around to face Ghost, closer than he was expecting, large nostrils opening and closing as he scented the wolf intently.  “You are Jon’s, aren’t you?”

“Aye, I’m Jon’s.”  He looked past the green beast to the black once more, challenge thick in his voice.  “The King in the North, you lads know him?”  He stood a little taller, a little prouder, noticing the sag in the larger dragon’s frame at his words.

The black dragon backed off reluctantly, hot air streaming from his muzzle as he snorted hard enough to blow back Ghost’s fur in one steaming exhale.  “I’m going up, brother.  Can’t say I’m impressed with the weather,” his eyes locked with Ghost’s, “or the wildlife.”  He moved back a few more paces before speaking to the green dragon again.  “Aren’t you coming?”

Ghost kept his eyes on the black creature, but he could feel the twin golden gaze of the green dragon studying him silently.  “I’ll join you later, still a bit hungry.”

In a gust of wind and beat of leathery wings the black dragon took to the sky, screeching out a parting call of “Farewell, pony dog!” before winging his way up and over the Keep.

“That your brother?”  Ghost didn’t sense much menace in the green dragon as he addressed him, asking his question as the creature settled back down, great claws reaching out to flip a deer flank between his mighty jaws.

“Yes.”  He almost sounded apologetic, this one did, and Ghost let himself relax a little bit, eyeing the piles of meat still remaining with more than a little hunger but restraining himself for now.  “Sorry about that.  He’s always been a little,” a sigh came between the crunching of a thigh bone, “dramatic.” 

There came a sudden blur of movement and then, flopping down heavily before him was the rump end of a stag, hide burned away, smelling awfully delicious.  Ghost looked up, something friendly in the green dragon’s gaze as he looked on at the wolf curiously.  That green head gave a nod, as if granting permission, and the white direwolf needed no further prompting.  Soon all that could be heard was the dual crunching as wolf and dragon took their meals, an amiable silence between them as they ate.

It was the dragon who broke it, with an idly posed question.  “So you are Jon’s beast, yes?  Bonded and such?”

Ghost stopped chewing.  “Aye.  Name’s Ghost.”  He flipped a bone between his paws, sucking out the marrow for a second before he realized he was probably being rude to this guest in his lands.  “What’s your name, then?”

The green dragon gave a long, spine straightening stretch before answering, groaning deeply and circling his body so that his head was lowered enough that the pair were at eye level.  “I’m Rhaegal.  The rude one, my brother, that’s Drogon.”  Rhaegal licked at his jaws with a large tongue, cleaning the remnants of his meal.  “He’s mother’s, of course, bonded and bound.”

The silver girl, Dany, Jon’s mate.  That’s who Rhaegal meant, he realized, but he wasn’t sure exactly what the dragon meant.  “How do you mean?”

“We’re dragons.  We have riders, if we are lucky.  Only one, and only if we choose.”  He sounded sad, this dragon named Rhaegal, and a little lonely.  Ghost understood that all too well.  Jon had been gone long and he’d missed the brother of his blood in his absence.  “Drogon chose mother when we were very young.”

Now the wolf thought he understood.  “She rides him?  Like a horse?”

Rhaegal gave a little laugh, his large body shifting as though he shrugged, like the humans did.  “Something like that, I suppose.”  There was an amused drawl as the dragon continued, “But I wouldn’t say that to him, if I were you.” 

No, Ghost thought, he was likely to meet with a very sticky end if he did such, so he’d try not to rib the black dragon when and if he returned.  “Good advice.”  Ghost bit into a large hunk of meat, savoring the heat and flavor for a moment before swallowing, curiosity getting the better of him.  “What about you?  Have you got a rider?”

“No.”  Rhaegal sounded so forlorn that Ghost could almost feel his sadness, but there was something else there, in the way the dragon suddenly shifted, a change in scent that the wolf found surprising.  If he didn’t know better he’d think the beast was nervous.  “But I’d like to.  I have someone in mind.”

Ghost’s head tipped to the side, ears pricked up, a knot forming in his stomach suddenly though he wasn’t sure why.  “Really?  Who?”

Amber eyes landed heavy on ruby red, and by the time the dragon spoke Ghost knew what he would say, his hackles starting to raise in shock.  “Jon, actually.”  The dragon gave a nervous laugh.  “This is awkward.  I mean, I know you’re bonded, I can smell it, but I just thought,” Rhaegal’s eyes shifted around as he seemed to muster his courage, “I thought we could share him, if it’s alright with you?”

“But,” Ghost sputtered out, more shocked than angered, “Jon’s no dragonrider.  He’s a wolf, like me, got the wolfsblood in his veins!  The old blood!”  The dragon was confused, that was all, to think Jon, one of the line of the First Men, could even dare such a feat.  Jon was ice, not fire.

“But that’s just it, though!  Can’t you smell it?”  Rhaegal was so earnest that the wolf willed himself to settle down, to relax his tensed muscles by a tick or two, even if what he said was ridiculous.  “He’s got the wolf blood, I know it, but don’t you see?”  Those golden eyes plead with him, his voice almost desperate.  “He’s got the blood of the dragon in him, too!  I can feel it!”

Ghost sat down on his haunches heavily, a queer feeling growing in his chest, as though something was shifting, moving, magic sliding through the air, almost unable to believe he was considering there could be any truth to what the dragon said.

But.

Jon had always smelled…different from the rest of his human pack, something wilder about him, power thrumming deep in his chest, something that had brushed against Ghost when they would run together in their dreams.

He didn’t like to even dwell on the thought of sharing Jon, not even a bit.

But.

Jon got into an awful lot of shit, dangerous shit, deadly shit.  And those icy dead fucks beyond the big ice wall were coming, he could feel that down to his bones.  And damned if Jon didn’t have habit of running into those bony fuckers every chance he got.

Ghost squinted at Rhaegal, studying him anew in the last rays of dying sunlight.  “Say you’re right.”  The dragon let out a hot breath, as if he’d been holding it in, awaiting Ghost’s answer.  “If he rides you, then you’ll be bonded, like your mother and your dumb shit brother?”

“Aye.”  The word sounded strange on the dragon’s tongue, as if he were trying it out, to see how it felt.  “I think *we* would be bonded.  All three of us.  The magic’s different in Jon than it is in mother.”  Rhaegal blew out another breath, considering.  “Can’t say for sure, though, until we try it.”

Ghost heaved out a sigh, lowering his body to the icy ground and laying his head upon his paws, red eyes staring up into Rhaegal’s.  “If you do this, you’d better understand something.  We’re a pack, alright, and there’s rules in the pack.”

“What does ‘pack’ mean?”  The dragon seemed confused, and for a second Ghost felt sorry for him, wondering if dragons didn’t form families like wolves did.  No wonder the giant creature sounded so lonely.

“Family.  And pack means we stick together, no matter what.  We protect each other.  We take care of each other, no matter the cost.  That’s pack.”  Ghost sighed, shaking his head.  “Not a very big pack anymore, but some of us are still left.  There’s me, Jon, and his human blood of course.”  The direwolf gave a snicker.  “Your mother, too, now that he’s mated her.” 

Rhaegal nodded.  “I understand.”  He shifted uncomfortably, once more, unsure as he spoke again.  “I can help you, you know.”  Ghost squinted up, willing the beast to continue.  “Protect your pack.  Jon seems like he gets in a fair bit of trouble.”  The dragon scraped a claw upon the ground aimlessly, his eyes meeting Ghost’s once more, full of yearning promise.  “Awful lot of work for one direwolf, isn’t it?”

The dragon made excellent points, honestly, and Ghost was running out of reasons to deny the request beyond his own selfish desire to keep Jon all to himself.  Pack wasn’t about selfish wants, though, and more than anything Ghost wanted Jon to be happy.  And preferably alive.

But he couldn’t let the creature agree without warning him.  It wouldn’t be fair.  Even a dragon should fear what marched for them.  “Bad things are coming.  You need to know that before you agree to anything.”  Ghost shivered.  “Terrible things.”

Red eyes snapped to gold at Rhaegal’s unexpected rumbling growl, something very much like fury raising the spines on his massive neck.  “The dead men.”  Now, for the first time, Ghost could hear the menace that had lived freely in Drogon’s voice echoed in the green dragon’s deadly utterance.  “I’m going to fucking kill them all.”  As Ghost watched a glow began to form, deep within the dragon’s throat.  “That fucker killed my brother.”

Ghost knew without asking who Rhaegal meant.  He’d seen him.  He could feel that dead man’s power, the one the winds whispered about.  The Night King.  And it was with genuine sorrow in his voice that he replied, “That’s terrible.”  He paused, swallowing his own grief down.  “About your brother.  My wolf brothers are gone, too.”

Silence hung heavy between the two, until finally Ghost rose, walking close enough to feel the heat coming off Rhaegal’s great green body, comforting as the hearth, and he swung his head around until his muzzle touched the dragon’s.  “Reckon we can be brothers, now.  Be pack.  If that’s what Jon wants.”

“Really?”  Ghost hadn’t known dragons could whisper, but this one did, his voice thready with surprise.

“Aye.”  The direwolf back off, snagging a piece of rib cage and biting down forcefully.  “When it comes to Jon, I need all the help I can fucking get.”

\----------

“Right.”  Ghost heaved out a steadying breath, glancing back at Rhaegal before looking back to the front gates of the Keep, where Jon had just burst out, charging across the snowpack as if his ass were aflame.  Things had been fine that morning, better than fine judging by the incessant sounds of fucking coming from Jon’s chambers.

But things had changed, and by the stormclouds brewing on Jon’s face he was worked up into a right state, and he and his new packmate were going to have to get this sorted before anyone rode on any dragons.

“What’s wrong with him?”  Rhaegal seemed confused, frowning, seeming to sense the man’s agitation as Ghost did, and the green beast slid low on his stomach, crawling up to join Ghost on the crest of an icy hill, both sets of eyes locked on Jon as he made his way to them.

“No telling, really.”  Something churned within Ghost now, a turmoil that was not his, that belonged to the wolf who wore a man’s skin, the brother of his soul.  “He gets like this a lot.  Endlessly disappointed in everyone’s choices, generally speaking.”

“Well…”  Rhaegal glanced his way with those great gold eyes, assessing the wolf.  “Humans do seem to make shit choices.”

“You’re not wrong.”  Ghost lifted his nose, opening his mouth to taste the air, feeling deep inside to try to find the source of Jon’s upset.  “But this one tastes like betrayal.”  Rhaegal began a low rumble in his chest, causing Ghost to laugh and press against the beast’s hide with his fur covered flank.  “Steady, let’s wait and see if we have to kill anyone first.”

Jon stopped abruptly, feet away, seemingly not having noticed that it was not merely Ghost who stood waiting.  He smelled faintly afraid for a moment, staring so hard at the green dragon that the direwolf began to wonder if it was Jon who might breathe fire.  Seconds ticked by before Jon gave a deep and morose sigh, crossing to sit on Ghost’s other side, right on the ground, and within a heartbeat he was putting his head in his hands.

“It was all a lie, Ghost.  All of it.”  Jon whispered into the wind but Ghost heard it, not missing the slight hurt on the dragon’s face at not even being acknowledged.  “I don’t know who in the fuck I am.”  The wolf ached down to his bones with the pain coursing through the young King, the anguish in his voice.

Rhaegal was still and silent, unmoving as the chilly winds whipped past.

“He didn’t know.”  Ghost’s whisper reached the dragon, who inclined his head.

“Didn’t know what?”

Ghost stretched his body out beside Jon, willing the man to lay his hand upon his snow white fur, nudging his head under one limp arm, whining quietly.  “About the dragon blood.”  He gave a whimper, licking at Jon’s gloved hand, meeting his brother’s eyes.  “He does now.”

Rhaegal gave a sad rumbling purr in answer, saying nothing more, laying his scaly snout down on the snow.

How long they sat like that Ghost wasn’t sure, but none of the three moved until a thunderous crash sounded behind them, Jon’s head swiveling around in time to see Drogon landing and creeping forward.  “What’s this, then?”

“Don’t start, brother.”  Rhaegal gave his brother a warning, a threatening growl as he pulled his body up to stand, his green form a physical barrier between Drogon and the smaller forms of Jon and Ghost.  “Not now.”

Drogon looked at them all suspiciously before his head raised, golden eyes staring off into the distance as his nostrils flared.  “Mother’s coming.”

And she was, the Silver Dany, Jon’s mate.  As she came closer her steps grew cautious and careful, and she did not approach Jon, instead going over to Drogon and scratching at his snout.  Jon, Ghost saw, gave a little flinch but did not speak, his hand spasming against the wolf’s fur, his grip tightening almost painfully until Ghost gave a startled yelp.

“Fuck’s sake.”  Ghost let out a beleaguered sigh, rising and slipping free of Jon’s hand.  “We don’t have time for this shit.”  The bad men, the bone men, they were coming closer every day, and whatever identity crisis Jon was stewing in was just going to have to wait.  Ghost eyed Jon’s mate, who had looked up curiously at the sound of Ghost’s yelp, her eyes kind as the wolf padded over to her.

“Hello.”  She had a nice voice, this Silver Dany, and no doubt nicer hands, and he brushed his large body against her skirts, marking her with his scent, marking her as pack while Jon looked on sadly.  She gave him several scratches under his jaw, just where she’d scratched her dragon, and Ghost repaid her with several licks on her cheeks and palms, delighting in the small laugh the woman gave.

He looked back, at Jon, who continued to sit on his ass in the snow, not budging.  He clearly wasn’t getting the hint.  Fucking would make him feel better, of course, it always made Ghost feel right as rain, but Jon was as stubborn as they came when he fell into one of his black humors.

“Alright.”  Rhaegal looked up as Ghost gave a call, his eyes searching the wolf’s.  “Gonna have to do this the hard way, I reckon.  Just jump right in.”  He gave Jon’s mate one last good lick, making sure to stare right at Drogon as he did, who growled quietly at him, earning the dragon a shush from his mother.

“Stay low, like you are, but crawl forward.  Put your head right behind him, close enough where he can touch you.  But nice and slow.”  Ghost saw Rhaegal stare at Jon with an eager hope in his eyes, and he prayed to the Old Ones that this would work.  They had a war to win and he wasn’t going to let Jon muck around while there was fighting and fucking to be done.

The green dragon did as the wolf asked, creeping slowly, and just as slowly Jon’s head turned, watching the dragon approach.  He was a little afraid, Ghost could feel it, but something else was building in the man, something he had wished for but hadn’t realistically expected.  Jon was excited, he could smell it, and when he stripped off his glove and placed his hand on Rhaegal’s snout he couldn’t stop the exhalation of relief that rushed from him.

“That’s it, lad.”  Ghost wasn’t sure who he meant just then, Rhaegal, or Jon, but both man and dragon closed their eyes the minute they made contact with each other.  Something flared to life in his chest, then, hot and fiery and burning, something powerful sweeping over him, raising his hackles unconsciously.  “Slowly, dragon, or you’ll burn me alive!”

“Sorry.”  Rhaegal whispered once more, awe in his voice, his eyes locked onto Jon’s form.  “I think he’s going to do it, Ghost.”

Ghost crept away from the Queen, standing behind the brother of his blood, his heart pounding in time with Jon’s.  Maybe with the dragon’s as well, he couldn’t be sure, but there was such power singing through his veins then he felt as though he could sprout wings himself, just for a moment.

Jon was trembling, though his hand was still resting on Rhaegal’s snout, the green nostril flaring and constricting as the dragon fought to contain his own excitement.  “Do what?  Ride on your back?”  Ghost scented at Jon, who was still excited, yes, but hesitation was souring the smell, the man sweating below all those furs.

Rhaegal wilted at the scent, recognizing it when Ghost did.  “No.”  The dragon gave a low whine.  “Not yet.  He’s afraid.”  The green dragon stepped back one step, then two, forlorn, not even responding when his brother called out to the pair.

“Sorry, brother.  Guess the wolf King isn’t so brave after all is he, you talking snack?”  Drogon gave a bellowing laugh, and Rhaegal only withdrew further.  Ghost, however, did not, glaring at the black beast, calculating, then deciding on a course of action.

“Can you get low enough for him to climb up?”  Red eyes met sad amber, but the green dragon answered.

“I think so.  I’ve seen him do it.”  Rhaegal tipped his chin towards where his brother lay, crouched down low and receiving a settling brush of his mother’s hand, the Silver Dany watching anxiously now as her green son lowered his body further, his wing stretched out, the joints creating a ladder Jon could scramble up.

And Ghost came around, circling Jon’s body, staring first at him, then at the green dragon.  Again.  And again.  And again.

Finally Jon realized what he was getting at, his somber brother leaning in close.  “Ghost.  Now’s not the time.”  The King paused, peering at Rhaegal before whispering to Ghost again.  “He could kill me if he doesn’t want me up there.”

Ghost growled in aggravation, grasping Jon’s leathers between his jaws and dragging the man to the lowered wing, coming around behind to butt his head against Jon’s ass forcefully.  “Get up there, you stubborn shit.”

And Jon understood.  He climbed, glancing over his shoulder at his mate, Silver Dany gasping at the sight and speaking a foreign tongue to Drogon, and at once the black dragon was lowering his own wing obligingly.

Ghost came around, his white fur buffeted by the cold wind, his face directly in Rhaegal’s line of vision.  “Don’t fucking drop him.”  He came close, his muzzle grazing Rhaegal’s snout, another brush of power arcing through him.  “I’m trusting you.”

“I’ll be careful.  I swear it.”  Rhaegal was trembling with anticipation, the muscles in his hind legs bunching and tightening, and then he was running, Jon giving a startled yell as man and dragon raced along the ice, three steady flaps of mighty wings pitching them into the sky.

“Farewell, pony dog!  Too bad you’re stuck down there, isn’t it?”  Drogon screeched at him as he raced by, his mother laughing as she and her dragon joined Jon and Rhaegal.

Ghost watched until they were no more than tiny pinpricks in the sky, watched Jon leave him once more, to a place he could not follow.

He had thought he might feel more sadness, even jealousy.

But he was happy.

There was a tight joy in his massive white chest, Jon’s joy, Rhaegal’s joy.

Now, he had a new brother.

\------------

“When you say fucking,” Drogon drawled, “what exactly do you mean, snack?”  The three were all gathered near the stone walls of the Keep, guards watching anxiously as the three creatures of legend circled and paced.

“Stop calling him that.”  Rhaegal leaned in, nipping at Drogon’s swishing black tail.  “He has a name.”

Drogon rolled his eyes, looking at his brother incredulously.  “I’ll call him whatever I like.  What’s he going to do?  Howl me to death?”

Rhaegal glared, inching closer to Ghost.  “He’s magic, like us, and he’s Jon’s, so you’d better behave.”  The green dragon growled.  “You know what mother said.”

The black dragon gave a dismissive snort, his eyes searching the windows of the Keep instead of Rhaegal or Ghost.  “Be nice.  Yes, I heard her.  This is me.  Being nice.  Not eating this talking little snack.”  His eyes shot to the wolf’s.  “Rather nice of me, isn’t it,” teeth gnashed together, grinding as Drogon uttered grudgingly, “Ghost.”

The white wolf ignored the black dragon, his eyes also falling to the windows.  “You want to know what fucking is or don’t you?”

“I want to know what it is you mean when you say Jon is fucking my mother, yes.”  Drogon sounded angry, offended even, and Ghost was surprised two mighty creatures could be so absolutely innocent to the ways of the world.  Why, he’d been fucking for years now.  Surely there were girl dragons flying about somewhere, though the lack of fucking certainly explained the black dragon’s horrible attitude.

“I feel itchy.”  Rhaegal was shifting restlessly beside him.

Ghost gave a wolfish grin.  “You’re bonded to Jon now.”  Rhaegal nodded though it was not a question.  “That’s what it feels like when Jon’s fucking your mother.”  The wolf’s mouth fell open, and he panted in Drogon’s direction.  “Like an itch you need to scratch.”

His red eyes fell to the windows till he found the one he wanted, and he whispered for the duo to follow as closely as they could as they slid along side the ancient stone, ‘til they were just under the window to Jon’s chambers.

“Hear that?”  He certainly could, and by the look of confusion on the dragons’ faces they could as well.  The Silver Dany let out a throaty yell then, followed by Jon’s name, the sounds and smells of mating flowing from the open window and out into the night.

“Is he hurting her?”  Drogon was rumbling and thrashing his tail about, rage building in those mad eyes.

But Rhaegal responded before Ghost could answer.  “No.”  He drew the word out, his head rising until he could look into the room for himself, then shooting back down to stare at Ghost.  “Why are they doing that?”

Drogon mirrored his brother’s actions, even angrier but endlessly puzzled when he lowered his head as well, clearly befuddled by what he’d seen.  “Explain this!”

Ghost gave a shrug, padding off a few paces, ready to give his brother a spot of privacy with his mate, heading for the clearing along the tree line where he could scent some rabbits running.  “It’s what they do.”  The pair was scrambling after him, landbound, awkwardly lumbering after the sleek wolf.  “Humans.”  Both dragons remained clueless, and Ghost snagged a hare and crunched down heavily, warm blood streaking his fur, downing the small prey in a few bites before continuing.  “When they want to make a pup.”

Drogon shuddered as he watched Ghost eat.  “You’re a fucking savage.”  He grumbled and groused, claws swiping out to catch an elk, idly shooting out gouts of flame to cook the meat before he began to tear it apart.  “You don’t even cook your food, little snack.”

Rhaegal ignored it all, focused only on this new knowledge.  “But our mother is a dragon.”  His eyes lit up, suddenly, turning to his brother in excitement.  “It’s how they make eggs!”

Ghost gave a snicker.  “Humans don’t lay eggs.”  He looked at the pair with amused eyes.  “You lot come from eggs?”

Rhaegal gave a nod, but Drogon preened, proud as he broke his meal’s rib cage between his jaws.  “You should be so lucky.  We certainly do.  Beautiful eggs people pay large sums of gold for.”

Ghost crouched, his attention on the deer he could now sense beyond the tree line.  “Like a chicken then.”  He leapt as the black dragon roared in outrage, his jaws sinking into the deer’s neck, and he pulled the twitching body out of the treeline to drop it in a heap before Rhaegal.

“NOT LIKE A CHICKEN!”

Rhaegal looked at Ghost pleadingly before he cooked the deer his host had provided, his eyes begging the wolf to stop baiting his brother, and Ghost grumpily complied.

“Alright, not like a chicken.  Point is, humans have pups that look like them, and they don’t come from eggs.”  He sat on his haunches, watching the pair as they ate.

“So,” Rhaegal snapped into a femur, “you meant to say that’s what Jon’s doing.  Trying to put a small human in our mother.”

The wolf couldn’t stop the snicker of amusement.  “Oh, no he’s already done that.”  He looked at the pair wonderingly.  What sort of beast were they, that they couldn’t smell the pup in their mother?  “Now he’s just fucking her because it feels good.”

“I hate you.”  Drogon was growling but his heart wasn’t in it, more shocked offense at the wolf’s description than true anger, and Ghost felt a niggle of guilt at needling the mad creature so.  “Truly I do.”  The black beast shoved himself up from his crouch, the rest of his meal uneaten, breaking into a run across the clearing, and calling over his shoulder, “And I’ll hear no more of your filth about my mother, you little savage!”

Rhaegal said nothing until his brother was gone from sight, off pouting somewhere no doubt.

“Well,” he sighed, chewing thoughtfully.  “At least he stopped calling you a snack.”

Ghost nodded.  “Progress.”

\-------------

“MOTHER!”  Drogon’s roar of distress reached Ghost’s ears, a frantic call from such a large creature, pitiful in nature, travelling across the field of dead men who finally stirred no more.

Drogon was a mad shit, that much was true, but he’d faced down the abomination that had been his brother, had danced in the skies, blue fire scorching and flaring against orange flame, his mother battling the Night King while Ghost remained on the ground, Jon atop Rhaegal somewhere, felt but still unseen.

The Night King was dead, and the bone men were finally at rest, but his heart pounded in terror.

Silver Dany had Jon’s pup in her, and she was Ghost’s pack too, and he must protect them.  He raced across the dirty heaps of snow and soiled armor, blood pounding thickly through him, the smell that reached his nose making him give his own howl of terror.

She was hurt, Jon’s mate was hurt.

He found the dragon aground, lying on his side, blood pouring from a large gash in his chest as his head nudged at the fur covered heap beside him.

“Mother.”  The word was a helpless groan, and Ghost was upon them in an instant, his mind reaching for Jon as hard as it could, begging him to hurry, to come to where the wolf was, to save his mate.

Ghost nosed at Silver Dany’s body and she stirred, her eyes flashing purple in the driving snow, her breath escaping in cloudy puffs.  “Ghost.”  He could hear the pain in her voice, but she did not bleed as her dragon did, her hands instead travelling to her leg, twisted unnaturally underneath her.  “I’ve broken my leg, sweet boy.”

Drogon watched them through half-lidded eyes, exhaustion and terror swimming in their depths.  “Take her, now!  Take her to Jon!”  The dragon’s breath was wheezing out.  “Ghost, please!”

The white wolf was frozen for a second, surprise flooding him.  He’d never used Ghost’s name before.

Ghost lay down, crawling over to the Queen’s body, nudging his nose under her torso.  “Push her up on my back, if you can.”  A great black snout was shoving his mother up and onto the wolf in a heartbeat, relief making the dragon finally relax, his body still steaming where it lay in the ice and snow.

“Go!”  Ghost stood, waiting until the woman had wrapped her arms around his neck, finally feeling the prickle down his spine that meant Jon and Rhaegal were coming.

He gave one last look to the black dragon who had saved them all, amber eyes closing, the beast’s breathing finally slowing, and then he was off, streaking as steadily as he could and as fast as his paws could carry him, only slowing when Jon and Rhaegal came crashing down, Jon’s panic worming it’s way into Ghost’s heart before the man had even scrabbled down the dragon’s back.

“Dany!  Dany!”  Jon was frantically pulling his mate free, and Ghost stood still until her weight was free of him, Jon cradling her like a babe, carefully trying to scale Rhaegal’s back with his precious cargo.

“Get them home, as quickly as you can.”  Rhaegal nodded seriously at the wolf’s request, his eyes flashing around desperately.

“Where’s my brother?  Where’s Drogon?”

Red eyes finally broke away from following Jon’s progress to meet those of his packmate, his brother through Jon.  “He’s hurt.”  Rhaegal let out a desperate whine.  “I’ll stay with him.  Take care of your mother and Jon.  Protect the pack, you understand?”

“Right.”  Rhaegal’s voice grew in strength at the reminder.  “Right.  I will.”  The dragon gave a heavy swallow, his large head turning to see that Jon and Silver Dany were securely on his back.  “Protect my brother.”  He swung his head back to look at Ghost.  “I know you don’t like each other, but…”

“Of course I will.”  Ghost chuffed in censure.  “He’s pack too, of course.”

“Thank you, Ghost.”  Rhaegal’s green snout slipped forward to brush Ghost’s muzzle carefully.  “Thank you, brother.”

Ghost straightened, dancing on his forelegs a bit, anxious to get moving again before he grew too stiff in this frozen hell.  “Enough of that, then.  Off to Winterfell, now, all of you.”

\------------

Drogon’s body lay still, right where he’d last been, and Ghost was trepidatious in his approach, this dragon who held little affection for him liable to snap and snarl if he got too close.

If he wasn’t dead, of course.

“You alive over there?”  His call reached the dragon’s ears, and his black head shifted in surprise as his eyes shot open, weary and pained.

“What are you doing here, little snack?”  A snarl came, with little force behind it, and his eyes closed heavily.  “Thought I told you to get my mother to safety, you little shit.”

Ghost rolled his eyes, stepping closer but mindful to keep clear of Drogon’s jaws.  “Your brother and Jon came.  Flew her back to Winterfell.”  He lay himself heavily in the snow, watching the dragon closely.  “She’ll be alright.  The fat man will take care of her.”

Silence fell between them, nothing but the whistling of the wind through dead branches filling the air, until finally Drogon spoke again.

“Doesn’t explain what you’re doing here.”  The black dragon did not look at him, but Ghost could hear the question in his voice, an unbidden fondness for the ill-tempered beast rising to the surface.

“And what?’  Ghost let his words hang in the air, waiting until yellow eyes met his.  “You thought I’d just leave you here?”

Drogon only snorted in response.

Ghost shook his head, taking a chance, crawling closer on his stomach, a show of trust as he put his body close enough that the black dragon could eat him in a bite if he wished.  And he did not miss the surprise in the dragon’s eyes at the move.  “That’s not what pack is, you shit.”  The wolf lay his head his paws.  “We’re pack whether you like it or not.”

Drogon studied him carefully.  “You’re just saying that because Jon’s fucking my mother.”

Ghost gave a hearty laugh, and was pleased to hear the dragon give a chuckle of his own, his head laying heavily back down on the ground.  “Maybe at first.”  He crept closer still, the dragon’s warm hide calling to him like a beacon, and he took a calculated risk, brushing his nose against Drogon’s snout.  “But you did save us all.  Least I could do is come back and look after you.”

For a moment, an almost unbearable heartbeat, he thought the dragon might eat him then and there, leathery lips parting to reveal sharp fangs.

But Drogon was smiling, he realized, a little pride creeping in to those golden, tired eyes.  “I did, didn’t I?”

“Yes, yes.”  Ghost clucked his tongue, rising up and rounding the dragon’s body, examining the wound that had been gushing gouts of hot blood hours before.  It was closing, but he very much doubted Drogon would be flying this day.  “Don’t go getting a swelled head.”  He worked his way down the dragon’s body, seeing no other signs of injury, and resumed his place near Drogon’s head.  “Wound’s scabbing over.  How long ‘til you can fly, do you think?”

“Mmmmm.”  The dragon seemed to ponder this seriously.  “A day or two if I don’t want to rip it open.”  Suddenly those great eyes were pitiful.  “I could heal faster with something to eat.”

Ghost leapt backwards, shocked.  “You aren’t eating me, you dumb shit.”

Now Drogon gave a real laugh, from deep in his massive chest.  “Not you.”  He snapped his jaws in jest.  “Not yet.”  The dragon looked around the desolate field, no signs of life to be seen.  “Go make yourself useful and fetch us some dinner, pony dog.”

Ghost growled, jesting, already running towards the treeline.  “Don’t push your luck, chicken lizard.”

\-------------

It took three days, with Drogon grousing the entire time, a horrible patient to be sure.

And Ghost was no fat man, but he cared for him as best he could, pleased when he woke that third morning to find Drogon on his feet, giving his wings a testing flap.

“I’m ready.”  When Drogon spoke it was off, it sounded strange to Ghost’s ears, and he padded near the dragon’s warm body curiously. 

“What’s happened to you?”  His white head tipped sideways, bloody eyes trying to spot what was different about the beast, but the dragon only gave him a cunning smile. 

“I’m changing, you dumb shit.”  A great rush of wind washed over the white wolf as Drogon ran, wings beating to push himself aloft.  “First one back gets the first elk.”

The dragon was laughing uproariously, circling once before flying off in the direction of the Keep, and Ghost gave a groan only he could hear.

That was obviously cheating.

\--------------

The change wasn’t obvious to Ghost until the second day of his return, as he’d found himself consumed by many pats and pets and scratches from Jon and his mate, bones being tossed to him from the stone walled kitchens by friendly faces that had once shown fear.

It felt good to be a hero, he thought, padding out to the clearing he and his scaled pack members usually chose to recline during the day, finding only Rhaegal there with a strange expression on his face.

“I need to tell you something.”  Jon’s dragon looked about as though fearful, and Ghost could feel the worry seeping from his words.

“Go on then.”  Ghost gave himself a roll in the snow, trying to toss off the scent of all those human hands.

Rhaegal cleared his throat.  “It’s about Drogon.”

“Aye.”  Ghost stood looking about curiously.  “Where is that dumb shit? He’s normally stomping around complaining by now.”

“Well,” the green dragon shifted his feet in the snow, “it’s like this, see.”  The green dragon shut his eyes nervously, speaking in a sudden rush.  “He’s a girl now.”

“He’s WHAT?”  Ghost had seen plenty of strange things.  Old Gods preserve him, he’d seen more than any direwolf before him.  But this didn’t make any sense.  Beasts didn’t just CHANGE like that.  “So, he’s your sister now?”

Again the green dragon shifted, pawing his claws into the ground sheepishly.  “Not exactly.”

“Old Ones keep me, just say it already!”  He had a sneaking suspicion what the dragon was getting at, but it couldn’t be that.  Surely not.

“I did the fucking thing you told me about.”  Rhaegal gave a half-hearted smile, bearing his jaws.  “You were right, it’s tremendous fun.”

“You mean to tell me you fucked your sister that used to be your brother?”  He couldn’t help it.  He’d never been so confused, laying down heavily in the snow and staring up at Jon’s dragon helplessly.  “Fucking hells, man!”

“You don’t understand!  We’re magic, yes?”  Ghost nodded, but he couldn’t see what that had to do with anything.  “Right, so what you also need to understand is we aren’t really related, I don’t think.  We just hatched at the same time.”

“Fair enough.”  Ghost’s words were a slow drawl.  “But how is he now a she?”

Rhaegal paced almost frantically, desperate to explain.  “That’s just it, you see, we can choose.  And Jon and my mother, they’re mates now, right?”  Ghost gave another nod.  “Well, when one dragon rider and another are mates, it follows that their dragons mate as well.”  Rhaegal was worked up into quite a spot, Ghost noted, watching the dragon swish his tail across the snow.  “Get it?  How else will we have eggs for mother’s babe?”

Ghost was silent, his ears twitching in the wind.  It made a strange sort of sense, he supposed.  He himself had been considering that Jon’s pup would certainly need it’s own wolf, running through his list of possible bitches he might get one or four on.

“I understand.”  The wolf spoke calmly, willing the dragon who was as much a brother to him as Jon to settle, and slowly Rhaegal did, his body circling and crashing down to lay beside the wolf.  “Still weird though, you know that, right?”

Rhaegal sighed.  “I know.”

They were silent for long moments, companionable and still, before Ghost raised his head to stare at Rhaegal, nudging him playfully with his nose.  “So how was it?”

“How was what?”  Ghost had to marvel at the innocence that still remained in the green dragon.

“The fucking, of course.” 

Rhaegal sighed again, happily this time.  “Terrific.”

Ghost gave a little shudder.  “If you say so.”

A green snout nudged him now, hard enough to jostle his body.  “Shut it.”

Ghost’s reply was stolen from him as Drogon’s large frame came crashing through the trees, stopping abruptly at the sight of wolf and dragon reclining together in the snow.

He gave a bit of a tremble as that scaly black body crawled forward in a flash, snout to snout with him in an instant and a blur of motion, surprised at the purely feminine voice that crept forth.

“Hello, little snack.”


End file.
